


In Vino Veritas

by little_ogre



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Bi Disaster Billy Rocks, Comedy of Errors, First Kiss, First Time, Just Working My Way Through the Cliches, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Goodnight Robichieaux, Period-Typical Racism, Romance, Sex Pollen, billy pov, murky consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-29 13:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_ogre/pseuds/little_ogre
Summary: "No harm no foul, just one party under the influence, who kissed and groped another party, who had appeared to enjoy it much more than they ought, and now both parties would proceed like nothing happened. Because nothing had."Following an ill-judged escapade under the influence of drugged wine, Billy tries to flirt with Goodnight with increasingly disastrous results.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Contains spoilers!  
> It should be noted that even if this is pretty mild and light hearted there are definitely the usual consent issues surrounding sex-pollen fic, as well as inept/clumsy flirting directed at an oblivious and increasingly confused person, the situation mostly meant to be funny.

They were drinking in a saloon somewhere, honestly Billy had stopped paying attention to the names of towns a while ago; it's in Arizona, somewhere to the west, but beyond that he doesn't care much. Bluff, or Creek, or Springs, it all blends together after a while. They have been drifting west, having wintered in Austin, riding out as soon as the weather was clement enough, both of them itching for the open road.

Shooting had been good, the town large enough not to clean it out all in one day and for once their pockets are lined and the mood towards them amiable. They have a room upstairs and Billy is looking forward to sleeping in a bed and not on a blanket on the ground.

Life is unexpectedly good, a small temporary pocket holding all he can ask for, tomorrow it may change, or he’ll want something else, but right now they are ensconced together on the plush red seats of a booth, back to the wall and a view to the door in a place which sells actual whiskey with a name on the bottle. The food has been good, the piano is not terribly flat, and Billy is honestly sleepier than he cares to admit.  

Next to him Goody’s eyes are bright and alert and his hands steady. He even indulged in a little demonstration of his skills with the rifle today, shooting cans at 600 yards, carefully lining up the shot and watching them fall over. It's a rare enough occurrence that Goodnight does that anymore, and it had made Billy swell a little with pride. He's seen Goody do it a few times, go into that place where nothing exists except the target and the rifle and the connecting line between them. He looks peaceful there, but empty, horribly blank. It takes a toll and Billy knows sometimes it takes too much for him to come back to himself. Ordinary noises usually bother him afterwards, a crack from a whip and the rumble of wagon wheels taking on another, sinister quality, becoming gunshots and artillery fire in a strange, treacherous morphing of reality which is truly terrifying for Billy to consider. He has known night terrors, but they have never visited him in the daytime like Goody’s does and he hopes they never will. Today though, Goody only looks pleased with a skill, a little showy, a little flashy, and now he’s talking to the man next to them about the terrain to the west, trying to find out their best route forward, with settlements large enough to rustle up a few competitions.

 

A lot of the good townsfolk wants to buy them a drink, both on account of Billy’s shooting and because Goody’s reputation in the war. It's good drink and they keep coming and Billy don't think too much about it when two tall glasses of dark red liquid end up in front of him.

 

“Bordeaux, wine” Goody tells him and takes a cursory sniff swirling the liquid. “And none to bad at that. We must have impressed somebody.” Further down the bar a group of three women raise their glasses to him, smiling, and cocking their heads.

 

For all that Goody has sung it's virtues Billy has never had grape wine, he's not sure why he would spend money on it when there is whiskey and beer and rot-gut to drink. He takes a sip now, and he's not sure he can see the charm. It tasted sour and sweet at the same time and made his tongue curl. Goody laughed at his face and took a sip from his own glass. Billy took another couple of gulps, unwilling to show how much he disliked it. He can match Goody glass for glass of anything and goddamn anyone who says different. He didn't notice though the strange grimace flying across Goodnights face and how he immediately puts down the glass.

 

“You might not want to...” Goody starts and then trails off, eyeing Billy's mostly empty glass, “...drink that too fast,” he finished, his tone wry.

“Why not?” Billy asked, fully expecting Goody to spin him some bullshit about how wine needs to be savoured, as if it didn’t taste like drinking sour, over-steeped tea. He caught Goody’s eye and knocked the rest back as if it was hooch, and Goody winced.

 

“You might regret that, my friend,” Goody said, eyes searching the saloon before settling on something behind Billy shoulder.

 

“It’s probably nothing anyway, but let me know if you start feeling sleepy. And hold on to your boots,” he added cryptically and patted Billy's arm, putting his own whiskey glass into his hand instead, pushing the wine glasses out of the way. Billy sipped the whiskey, enjoying the familiar burn and feeling the long day slowly dissipate. For the moment all's right with the world. There was money in his pockets and food in his belly, and Goody’s bought fresh tobacco and tomorrow they’ll be on the trail again. Billy breathed out and leant back into the seat, Goody was just next to him, talking and talking to some fella that’s bought them drinks.

The group of women had drifted down the room until they are right next to their booth. They are what Billy supposes Goody means when he says “women who are no better than they should be”. And that suited Billy down to the ground. They are very pretty in their bright dresses and overdone hair, like plumaged birds, eye-catching and gaudy.

 

“I’m Grace,” one of the women introduces herself, with a wide smile “and these is my sisters, Patience and…”

“Chastity,” the third one fills in, looking anything but, leaning down to give Billly a spectacular view of her cleavage. There wasn't a strong family resemblance but Billy’s not one to quibble over small details.

 

“Billy Rocks,” he tells them, shaking their dainty hands, “A pleasure to meet you,” and Chastity smiles like a cat with a canary.

 

“I hear you are quite the man of the hour,” Patience said, leaning forward, she has an inviting smile, with dimples. “Whole town’s talking about how nobody’s seen a faster hand.”

 

“Fast in some ways,” Billy said and gave her a considering look. “Slow in others,” he drawled and she laughed behind her fan. Billy’s blood was beginning to feel slow and hot. But he must've been more tired than he thought because he couldn't keep the thread of the conversation, not that he really needs to as such, but there were still some formalities that needed to be cleared up.

 

And he’s thinking that maybe them, or at least one of them, and him, should go somewhere and spend some time and he’s not sure, something strange has happened to his ears where all noise is rising and falling like crashing waves, and his eyelids feels heavy and slow when he blinks, but he thinks steps of negotiation is being taken in that direction when Goody accidentally puts his hand on top of Billy’s under the table and the world stops in its tracks.

 

It’s just for a moment, Goodnights flat and calloused palm over Billy’s fingers, startlingly warm where sensation is not cut off by Billy’s gloves, but it is the most important thing in the world. And then Goody pats his hand a bit (because that’s what Goody does, when he accidentally touches Billy, he touches him a bit more on purpose. If they bump their shoulders together Goody will always reach out and pat the shoulder a couple of times while apologizing. He is just friendly like that. And handsy, Billy has learnt to live with it, it seems to be connected to his ideas of good manners).

 

But somehow this is different, somehow now the touch sends fire up Billy arm, winding around his spine, spreading down to curl in his belly and groin. He is aware of Goodnight’ body, of his voice, the warmth from him and the point where their shoulders are nearly touching. Goody deftly strokes his hand along Billy’s fingers in silent apology and the sensation makes him want to tip his head back and groan. The whole thing is over in seconds, and yet Billy's gaze is inexorably drawn away from the women and towards Goodnight.  

 

And fuck, but he’s beautiful. It's strange that he’s never really thought about it until now, but Goody has high beautiful cheekbones, sharp blue eyes, and a sensual mouth, always with a crooked grin and Billy wants to touch him so badly he can hardly stand it.

 

One of the women startles him by leaning over to tap her bony fingers to his hand on top of the table and he dimly remembers that there was some sort of conversation, before everything shifted tracks. Before he was content to just watch Goodnight in a bright, rainbow bubble of desire. He muzzily tries to recall, but the specifics won’t come, overcrowded with the earth-shattering epiphany he's just had. Looking over at her it strikes him that she looks lovely, her skin seems to be almost glowing in the light from the lamps and how it would look if she was naked, and her and him, and Goodnight and the two other girls…

 

Billy has never been one to overcrowd his bed before but now he found that the thought just sweeps in and leaves him shattered. He's about to tell Goody of this new, marvellous idea but he gets distracted by how his own tongue feels against the inside of his lip, the slip and drag over his teeth to the smooth texture, and by Goody’s mouth and the plump round curl of his top lip, softly shielded by the beard, and how it would feel if it was Goody’s lips against the tip of his tongue instead of his own. Whatever Goody sees in his face makes him look concerned for a split second before he broke into a soft, sympathetic laugh.

 

“Oh, Billy,” he said ruefully, “Sweet Jesus on the cross, I only thought it would make you sleepy.”

 

And Billy tried to answer him, he did, but his tongue was still stuck to the roof of his mouth and somehow he's helpless to convey the oceans of want locked up inside him.

 

“Let's get you out of here,” Goody said, patting his back. “If you excuse us ladies, I think my associate is feeling a little indisposed.”

 

He got up and tugged Billy up with him, getting vertical made him realise he's uncomfortably hard, straining against his pants.

 

“You could leave it to us?” one of the women says, he can’t recall her name, something beautiful and virtuous? Was it  _Ha Eun? Chung Cha?_ And Billy thought, yes, he would quite like to go with her. Her smile was very bright and left smears of white light when she moved her head. “We have _quite_ the experience of caring for what ails him.”

 

To this Goodnight only smiled, all charm and ease, “No doubt such lovely ladies as yourselves would be excellent nurses; but I fear he's just overindulged a little, and as such would be sadly disappointing to you. No, no, no ladies, don't get up on your pretty feet. I'm sure this gentleman right here has been waiting to make your acquaintance” and with that he steered Billy away, a firm hand on his shoulder.

 

He was briefly disappointed that they were walking away from the women but then Goody’s thumb brushed the bare skin at his neck and want lanced through him, sharp as a needle. He took advantage of Goody’s closeness to wrap an arm around his waist, sneaking his fingers under the waistcoat so they rest on the warm cotton closest to the skin. Through the fabric he can feel the swell of belly, crest of a hip bone, the ribs expanding with breath. The first sets of stairs takes them up the mezzanine, and then once through the doors they are in the warren of corridors and rooms and Billy figures he’s waited long enough.

 

He leaned into Goodnight heavily, pushing him into the wall and kissed him. Goody's mouth was at first slack in surprise against his and then for a brief, dizzying instant he kissed back, mouth wet and beard a rough scrape against Billy’s chin. It only lasted for a moment though, before Goody made a soft, protesting noise and pushed him off gently.

 

“Hey, hey now calm down, that ain't something you want to do.”

Bill thought that was bullshit because it's very obviously something he wanted to do, and if Goody would just _let_ him it would be something he wanted too, but when he tried to kiss him again Goody held him off with his hands on his shoulders. Even the slight resistance felt good in his body, satisfying to push against, made him want to push against it harder.

 

“Billy, just wait a minute. I think you’ve got yourself confused, we left those women downstairs, remember?”

Which was just about the stupidest thing Billy 's ever heard, but it was pretty much what he should’ve expected out of Goodnight, the man didn't have the sense a goat was born with. Its not like he doesn't know Goody isn't a lady.

 

“I know who you are, Goodnight,” he said, rolling his eyes and yanking the man closer, nuzzling his jaw and Goody swallowed heavily.

 

“You had too much of the wine, you see?” said, sounding wobbly, and Billy frowned uncomprehending. Granted he was a bit in his cups but he could absolutely preform should it come to that and he gripped Goody’s hand pulling it down to the more than interested bulge in his pants to show him, and Goody yelped and withdrew, like he was really a well-mannered Southern Belle and Billy giggled, delighted that he’d made Goody blush.

 

“That ain’t what I meant, no! There was Spanish Fly or something else in that wine downstairs. I didn’t think to warn ya and then you’d go drank it all and I thought that the worst thing that could happen was that I would have to carry you up the stairs, because I’ve never seen Spanish Fly work a damn, other than to make a fella sleepy.”

 

“Fly?” Billy asked lazily, he’d taken advantage of Goody’s endless talking by making himself comfortable, one knee settled between Goody’s legs so he could rub himself along his thigh. It felt wonderful, Goody was welcome to talk some more if it meant Billy was allowed to continue. Sadly, he wasn’t, Goody firmly holding him back (Billy wasn’t at all sure he would have ever struck out with Goodnight from the beginning if he’d ever known he was such a puritan).

 

“Billy. Listen,” Goody said slowly and Billy bristled, there was no reason to treat him as if he was slow in some way. “Now remember those lovely ladies of the night downstairs? You were getting along famously.The wine they sent over was laced. It’s about the oldest trick in the book, find some poor sap who's flush, drug him and clean him out. I didn’t want to raise a fuss ‘cause I can't say I blame ‘em, folks everywhere needs to eat and anyway I can’t prove a damn thing...”

 

The sound of Goody’s voice started to warp and refracture, the same as downstairs, breaking into an unintelligible cascade of waves, but Goody was so serious, his eyes intent and his brow furrowed and Billy felt a slight worry, maybe something was wrong, he couldn’t focus on what Goody was trying to say, but he was so distressed and it was comforting to lean closer, until they were lined up, warm and safe against each other, like they always ought to be, letting the familiar timbre of Goodnight’s voice wash over him.

 

“...and Lord knows I shouldn’t have been so cavalier, but  I didn’t think it would _do_ anything and I definitely didn’t think it would do this! So that's why you need to slow down for a second before you do something you'll regret,” Goody finished, breathing heavily, and Billy smiled dreamily at him, lifting his fingers to gently smooth Goody’s furrowed brow.

 

“You worry so much,” he said simply and Goody nodded, so close now their foreheads were nearly touching.

 

“I worry a whole lot right now,” he said earnestly.

 

“Don’t worry,” he assured him, feeling confident again. “I’ll take care of you, I’ll take care of you _so good_ ” he promised, hearing his own voice getting rough and dark, letting his breath ghost over Goody’s jaw and neck and Goody pushed him away roughly.

 

“Goddamnit Bill, that was not what I meant!”

 

Billy whined and strained against his hold, beyond frustrated with Goody being right there and not being allowed to touch him.

 

“We're going to the room now!” Goody commanded, voice sharp as a whip and it made Billy shiver hot all over. He had no objections if this was the way it was going to go but Goody still wouldn’t let him _touch him_ and he was feeling so desperate, wanting so much it was difficult to remember how to breathe.

 

“Why are you being so mean?” he complained, unable to keep the needy whine out of his voice.

 

“I’m being _mean_?” Goody said, voice rising. “ _Merde_ , Billy.”

 

Goody rubbed a hand over his face and grabbed Billy’s arm pulling him along. Billy could dimly remember that there had been a time where he would have put a knife into Goody’s hand for touching him uninvited, but it just felt good now, the rough contact, and even struggling against his hold felt darkly satisfying.

 

The second the door was closed behind them Billy used the hand still gripping his shoulder and their momentum to slam Goody into the wall and knock his hat off. It felt good to use his body, to crowd Goody in and finally, finally get his hands on him. Billy took advantage of the few inches Goody had on him to zone in on a spot just under his jawbone, biting and sucking until Goody cursed loudly and groaned, thumping his head back hard against the wall.

 

“Billy, come on,” he panted weakly but his hands had made their way to Billy’s shoulders pulling him in and the next time Billy found his mouth he didn't protest, only opened up, letting Billy lick into that wet heat. Goody whined and bucked up against him, hands closing convulsively around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

 

It was sweet, so sweet, because Billy knew he’d won. Goodnight wanted him, Goodnight wanted this. It felt like a perfect moment, hanging gloriously suspended in the air, Billy rocking against Goodnight, kissing him until the rest of the world fell away. He moved to sucking and biting at his neck and Goodnight gasped and cursed breathlessly in his ear. He felt like his skin was so hot it was going to melt and the arousal pounding in his groin was bordering on painful.

 

The world was becoming disjointed, his self control cracking and splintering, he was rucking Goody’s shirt out of his trousers so he could slip a hand inside, the waistcoat was long gone, splaying a hand over his ribs, the sensation of skin like gunpowder to a flame, white and obliterating. His movements were getting increasingly jerky and clumsy and if he had ever known words in any languge they were gone now.

 

“Stop it,” Goody said and Billy just shook his head, moved his mouth to Goody's neck and bit down. Billy rarely wanted, life being too disappointing for wants and he seldom demanded, demanding too dangerous for the likes of him, but he wanted now. He demanded now. Goody was the one thing he wanted and he was going to have it. And he kissed him to make it clear, to conquer and hold.

 

“Oh Lord, I thought all I would do was to leave you alone for a spell to the venial sin of self-pollution,” Goody said, sounding drunk, tilting his head away, mouth out of Billy’s reach. Which frankly was not so much a deterrent as a tactical mistake because it gave him access to his neck instead and if there was anything Billy learnt, it was that Goody really liked to be kissed there.

 

“Ah Christ, chér,”Goody cursed. “ _Don’t,_ ” he gasped, sounding so sad and desperate it wrenched Billy’s heart. 

 

“Shhh,Goody, let me, please, just let me. Please, please, please,” he begged, because he wanted to be good, he wanted to be nice and sweet, agreeable but Goody just wasn't working with him. He wanted Goody to pet and praise him.

 

He was brushing his lips over Goody’s jaw, his cheeks and mouth, humming and soothing, Goody’s unsteady breath fluttering over his ear. Taking off his gloves, and placing his bare hand on Goody’s neck, the pulse beating under his thumb, the other hand brushing and petting over shoulders and chest.

 

Slowly, slowly Goody’s arms came up around him again, pulling him in, holding him close. Goody sighed and lowered his head, kissing Billy, slow, earnest. His fingertips were trailing over Billy’s face like it was something precious and rare, over his cheeks and brows, smoothing the mustache on his top lip with infinite gentleness.

 

"You must be the most beautiful thing in all creation," he whispered, gently and reverently. Goody’s eyes looked glazed, dark and unfocused and there was a pink flush all over his face. Billy’s efforts had loosened his clothes and he looked good, so good and Billy knew if he could just push him a little further…

 

Instead Goody pulled him in, held him so close he couldn't really get his mouth on him, only restlessly rub their bodies together, chest to chest, his hands scrabbling for purchase against the door.

 

“How you feeling?” Goody asked, his voice dark and cracked and it made Billy shiver. He wanted to take him apart, hearing that voice break completely, singing Billy’s filthy praises and promises.

 

“Good, I feel really good,” he assured him. ”I just really want you, want to feel you,” and Goody exhaled shakily, arms tightening.

 

“You tired?”

 

“No,” he denied vehemently and then relented as Goody stroked and patted  him calmingly, down his back, melting against Billy. “Maybe, a little,” he admitted, relaxing under Goody’s hands. His head felt swimmy and his eyelids heavy, the room had begun to spin gently, with Goody at the centre of the vortex. He wanted so to be good, for Goody to praise him.

 

“Well, there is a bed right there,” Goody suggested gently and Billy managed to pull away enough that he could grin up at Goody.

 

“Don’t intend to sleep in it,” he said wolfishly, rolling his hips.

 

“Get in the bed, Rocks,” Goodnight said firmly, and Billy laughed in giddy, breathless anticipation and they went down into the bed in a tangle of arms and legs.

 

A heavy lassitude was stealing over his limbs making his movements clumsy and slow, he seemed to be floating a little over the counterpane. Goody shifted his weight above him, straddling his hips and Billy groaned, feeling the movement like dull sparks along his spine, the pleasure tantalizingly out of reach. He stretched out a hand to cup Goody’s crotch,rubbing the hot bulge in his pants, enjoying the way he groaned and shamelessly ground down into it. Goody’s hands were stroking his hair, and he could feel exhaustion tugging at his body, he just wanted to lie back and enjoy the sensation, eyes closing against his own volition.

 

“Shhh, shhhhh,” he heard Goody mutter as his eyes began to close and his hands lost their strength. He whined discontented, making one last effort, bucking his hips up and grabbing at Goodys shoulder, bringing their mouths crashing together.

 

“If you weren’t going to _do_ anything about it why didn't you just let me go and solve my problem?” he groaned, vengefully nipping and licking at Goody’s lips, definitely harder than he needed to. Goody was gently holding him down and seemed to be playing the waiting game, patiently letting the exhaustion swallow Billy bit by bit.

 

“Had I know this was the way it was going I would’ve, but foolishly didn't want to see you cleaned out to your smalls. You’re the one holding our money remember? And don’t think you much cared for wanted your knives getting lost either,” Goody huffed but his hands were still gentle.

 

“I could have taken them” Billy whined, rolling his hips, bucking against Goody. “It was only three of them,” above him Goody made a pained noise.

 

“Lord Bill, that’s not an image I need right now,” he said, voice cracked and rough. Billy really wished he wouldn’t talk so much and instead go back to kissing him like he'd done before. Goody’s fingers scratched into Billy’s hair and he just arched back and enjoyed it, the sensation sending pulses of fire down his spine. Goody seemed to have given up on talking for now, he was not quite kissing Billy, hovering just out of reach and Billy snapped after his lips like a dog.

 

“Shhhh,” Goody murmured, and in spite of the fire in his blood, Billy feels himself starting to drift,eyes falling shut.

 

“Don’t go,”he begged, feeling Goody slipping out of his hands “Please stay, stay,” and all he could hear was Goody’s soft, whispered murmurings as if he was trying to gentle a horse, while his hands spasmed and came away empty.

*

When Billy woke up the sun was streaming in through the window and he was in the bed with a blanket over him. His boots were tidily placed on the floor at the foot of the bed but of Goody there was no trace. His head felt heavy and ached, and his movements were sluggish and slow.

 

In a vain effort to piece some of his dignity back together Billy splashed some water on his face and changed his shirt, before going looking for Goodnight. The face that looked out at him in the little sliver of glass above the washbasin looked pale and shifty, with purple shadows at the corners of his eyes. He’d have been a lot more anxious if he hadn’t seen Goody’s saddlebags still leaning against the wall where he had left them, as it was now it was just a small, insistent worry digging in his gut, as well as an unfamiliar and most unwelcome feeling of sheepishness.

 

“Should have thought of that earlier,” he told his reflection, no use of regretting anything when the damage was already done. Goody wasn’t anywhere downstairs, part of Billy had been afraid he’d find him drunk senseless and sleeping in a booth (which had happened a couple of times in the beginning of their acquaintance).

 

It wasn’t until he took the route through the livery stable to check on their horses he found Goody, asleep in the hay next to Juniper, his head on the saddle, his hat tipped over his eyes. He slept with his feet tucked in and arms tightly crossed over his chest. His face was shielded by the brim of his hat but Billy knew there was a deep furrow between his eyebrows and that he was clenching his jaw, as if remaining asleep was a great effort. There was a purple bruise just under the hinge of his jaw and Billy could, with a strange sensation of shame mixed with something else, something fierce and possessive, remember the whine Goody'd let out when he bit him there.

 

He watched the threadbare shape for a little while before deciding it was better to let him sleep and went off in search of decent food. He thought he had seen a laundry further down the main road which might have a kitchen out back.

 *

 

When Goody found him, late in the afternoon, Billy idly playing a game of dice in a backstreet, neither of them said much. Goody lit a cigarette and passed it to him after a few drags and a little after Billy collected his meagre winnings, it was gambling for pennies really, and they went out get resupplied before heading out again.

 

“You remember anything ‘bout last night?” Goody finally asked, when they were way out of town, only them and the campfire and Billy just made an indistinct noise which could be interpreted either way.

 

“Some ladies figured we would be easy pickings so slipped you something, I ain’t never seen it before, and it took you in a quite unexpected way. You were a little upset with me for calling the thing short, and I guess I was butting in where I wasn’t wanted, and good luck to any fella alone with three ladies, but I didn’t think you’d particularly like to lose those fancy knives o’yours, not to mention all our winnings…”

 

“I remember,” Billy said shortly and Goody gave him a sharp look.

 

“Remember how much exactly?” he said, a little wary and Billy had to smile at him and wink at him, and even in the poor light from the fire he could see Goody’s blush.

 

“Ahem, well I see,” he said, clearing his throat, looking away out into the dark. “Well, as long as none of us feel that any virtue has been, uh, unassailable violated, on either side of course, we could perhaps let the episode slide? Me, it was long time since I had any sensibilities to offend but you might still be a. Bit particular. But we could maybe just call this one even? No harm done at the end of the day?”

 

Goody’s shoulders were hunched on his narrow and uneven frame, and he was fiddling with his sleeves, his eyes averted and Billy didn’t have the heart to press. Besides it was true, no harm done at the end of the day and if Goody was willing to forgive and, more importantly to forget, then Billy wasn't going to bring it up ever again.

 

“Can't recall too much,” Billy said, which was an outrageous, bald-faced lie but Goody had never been able to tell when he was lying anyway. “But I do apologize if I got a little hasty there.”

 

“I wouldn’t know about that, I left before…” Goody said and bit his lip, red flooding his cheeks and Billy laughed.

 

“I was maybe a bit forward” he said cautiously and it was Goody’s turn to laugh.

“If it had been any more forward it would’ve been horizontal,” he chortled. “Now I don't know exactly what kind of raising your mama gave you, but I want you to know I now consider us married men.”

 

Billy snorted. “I ain't married to nobody until I see a dowry,” he replied and that appeared to close the matter.

 

No harm no foul, just one party under the influence, who kissed and groped another party who appeared to enjoy it much more than they ought, and now both parties proceed like nothing had happened. Because nothing had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish Fly, also known as Cantharidin, is in all events highly questionable and if it works at all will give you an erection but also make you bleed and die, so despite what Goodnight says here thats probably not what's in the wine. I guess it's handwavy sex pollen? Possibly from a rare breed of cactus and goat testicles.
> 
> There was going to be a whole lot more dirty innuendo durint the pick-up scene but I got too embarrassed to write it.
> 
> Also people probably didnt shake hand by way of introduction but its not like historical accuracy is a big issue here anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Billy Rocks, bisexual disaster

Even as he’d said it Billy had known that claiming not to remember anything was nothing but a goddamn lie, and the memory would come back and haunt him at the most inconvenient times.

 

When Goody sat next to him, the firelight illuminating his smile, or when Billy reached out to shake him out of a nightmare and Goody’s hair was tousled and his face unguarded. He had never considered his detailed memory as a bad thing, until it wouldn’t let him forget about the noises Goodnight had made, or the texture and taste of his mouth. How he’d kissed Billy helplessly, his hands had slipped over Billy’s skin like he was precious and rare and beautiful.

 

It was of driving him to distraction. The breaking point came one windy evening when Goody having failed three times to light his cigarette with a match, cursed and leaned over and lit it on Billy’s. Tilting his head and leaning in, hand coming up to curl around Billy’s neck, his fingers splayed warm and possessive and the other hand cupping around their mouths, keeping the wind off the flame. He was so close Billy could have brushed their noses together, could feel the gust of Goody’s breath fan over the corner of his mouth, the way he smelled bringing back so strong memories that for one moment he could have sworn they were kissing again.

 

And then the cigarette caught and Goody leaned back again with a satisfied sigh, Billy’s heart beating so fast he felt as if he’d just been in a fight.

 

Goody was older than Billy, by some years he suspected. His hair and beard were going grey,his teeth were bad, his eyelids drooped and when he smiled, soft and crooked, his face split into a myriad of cracks, but he _was_ handsome. Well granted, he was funny looking in that way all white people were a _little_ funny looking, but once Billy’s gotten used to that he could see that Goody was handsome. Even if in a careworn and haunted sort of way.

 

Attraction came to Billy in fits and starts; at first there was an elegance to Goody’s hands when they sketched through the air, and then the sloping line of his shoulders, strong and vulnerable at once, inviting Billy to throw his arm around him. There was the way he moved, the sound of his footsteps, the heat from his skin, the way he smelled, his sinewy arms and dexterous, expressive hands, the cluster of freckles against the creamy skin on his left shoulder, until everything, _everything_ started to mean handsome, beautiful, lovely.

 

Seeing Goody sighting down a rifle was starting to do things to Billy’s insides it definitely shouldn’t. And when he started thinking of Goody’s legs as slim and elegant instead of ridiculously skinny toothpicks he knew he had completely lost it and that there was no retrieving whatever sanity or good taste he’d used to have.

 

It was plain it couldn’t continue like this. Billy needed to be able to focus on other things, like knife throwing and perfecting his blank stare. And it was equally clear to him that the appetite had been awakened and needed to be satisfied before it would go away. The question he kept turning over in his mind was the issue of rejection, did Goody turn him down because he didn’t want to, or because he was drugged?

 

If Goody didn’t want it, that’d be one thing, but did he refuse because he thought it would be something _Billy_ would mind, come morning? The complicated thing Goody always said about resolutions and the pale cast of thought?

 

The way he had kissed Billy made for a pretty compelling argument in favour, but, it was just as irrefutable that Goody turned him down, and gone to the stables to sleep. Billy grimly realized that the only way of knowing was by asking, but he would rather take his own knife to his liver than to try opening up _that_ conversation.

 

He mulled over it during their long rides and in the shallow sleep on his bedroll, boots on and hat over his face, and reached one irrefutable conclusion; Goodnight wanted him then, he kissed him back, he stroked Billy’s face and shoulders with gentle, reverent hands and weather from opportunism or a natural inclination for such things, Goodnight had wanted him. He could want him again.

 

Billy was reasonably sure he had a piece of Goody’s heart already, that he viewed him as a friend as well as a business partner, that Goody enjoyed his company and at least tolerated the way they lived in each other’s pockets, sharing cigarettes and drinks and occasionally clothes. So Billy was as reasonably sure he had a piece of his heart, but what he _wanted_ was a bit of his body too. All of his body, if he’s being honest. His imagination has turned out be disturbingly detailed on that front.

 

So, really it was only the small matter of broaching it to Goody, who in Billy’s experience has been a bit of a pushover. The way he just folded over Billy’s demand of equal shares seemed, in hindsight, very promising.  

 

Again, Billy was reasonably sure he could make Goody see his point of view. They already shared rooms as a small economizing measure, surely getting it at home for free, instead of spending money on some girl, was an argument to be considered.

 

Watching Goody’s face, pale and tense even in sleep in the faint light of the dying embers of their fire, he wanted to soothe those furrowed lines, wanted to make Goody get lost in pleasure instead of frightening confusion, and when put like that there really should be nothing to it.

 

*

 

He tried testing the waters the next morning with some light flirting.

 

Goody was making coffee, chattering away and when their eyes met he held his gaze and tried to flutter his eyelashes, which he remembers a girl did to him once, with very potent effect. Goody only looks a little confused, but Billy wasn’t  too discouraged, he just needed to practice that was all.

 

He _was_ discouraged when Goody a week later brought him to the local doctor in the two-horse town they were passing through.

 

“He says there’s nothing the matter, Doc, but he keeps blinking his eyes! He can’t go out and shoot duels if he can’t nearly see,” Goody said desperately, one hand in a white-knuckled grip on Billy’s shoulder. In spite of Billy’s loud protestations, the doctor poked his knees with a little hammer thingy and nearly blinded him with a bright stinging, light and worst of all dripped something into his eyes that made everything swimmy and unfocused, and Goody had to lead him away by the arm like a blind man.  

 

Going through the door to their room, Billy stumbled on the threshold he couldn’t fucking see anymore, and fell, Goody having to catch him before he went over. He ended up practically cradled in Goody’s arms; half against the wall, arms around Goody’s neck. He could hardly breathe when Goody’s hand slowly came up to cup his cheek.

 

“Your eyes...really very…” Goody said, sounding vague and breathless, and Billy was afraid to even blink if it meant Goody dragging him off to the doctor again, but Goody only dropped his hands so quick as if it’d been burnt and abruptly disappeared somewhere to the other side of the room where Billy only could see him as a blurry mass.

 

“I’ll go find us some grub,” he said. “You rest up now,” and he was out the door before Billy could say as much as bottle. Clearly batting his eyelashes had been a futile approach and he’d have to find a better one.

 

*

 

The next attempt started much more promising. Goodnight was sweet and agreeable to cosy up to, and obligingly wrapped an arm around the backrest of his chair when Billy pulled it up close to him.

 

He did look a little askance when Billy sat down close enough to press them together hip to shoulder alone at their campfire the next evening, but made no comment. And when Billy captured his hand to press the fingers lightening quick before they turned in, it startled a smile out of him so pure and blinding it made Billy’s stomach swoop and his mouth dry.

 

He went to sleep feeling confident that he had hit on an effective approach.

 

Trouble came when he decided to escalate the touches. Taking the opportunity to give Goody a friendly pat on his bony rump, just as said rump was prominently on display with Goody swinging a leg over Juniper’s saddle, turned out to be near disastrous as Goody gave a yelp, promptly overshot and fell down the other side.

 

“ _What in all seven hells was that for?_ ” he said when he re-emerged, spitting dust and with his hat askew, face redder than a lobster.

 

Billy was half giddy with the phantom feel of the plump, pleasing curve of Goody’s ass still tingling in his palm, and half horrified, but also trying very hard not to laugh because all things considered that had been a _spectacular_ pratfall.

 

“Just thought I’d give you a boost,old man,” Billy said all innocence, brushing dust from Goody’s shoulder, and tried to angle his hat down to hide his twitching mouth. Judging by Goody’s indignant huff he was not at all successful. He wondered when he had completely lost his ability to hide his facial expressions from Goody.

 

“You sure you all right?” he asked when Goody was safely in the saddle again, casually patting Goddy’s thigh, letting his hand linger just a little.

“Fine, fine” Goody answered faintly, eyeing Billy’s hand as if was a live rattler in his lap.

 

Goody then stewed in sullen silence for at least three miles and kept carefully out of touching distance for the rest of the day, rolling into his blanket and going to sleep on the far side of the fire with his back to Billy in the evening.

 

*

 

It didn’t go much better when he dropped his hand onto Goody’s thigh under the table at the establishment they were currently eating, though in all honesty, they were mostly drinking.

 

Goody yelped like a startled rabbit and overturned his whiskey glass all over himself. Billy sighed and retrieved his hand and patiently tried again a little later, this time slowly, slowly sneaking it onto Goody’s thigh bit by bit. First down by the knee and then slowly inching it higher. And this was all fine and dandy and to be honest Billy found it quite cozy the way Goody imperceptibly softened and leaned into his space, their shoulders pushing together relaxed, until Goody actually _noticed_ the hand and looked over at Billy.

 

Wishing he had practiced a winning smile for such an occasion Billy had to settle for a minute quirk of his lips. Surely now Goody would understand what he was getting at?

 

But no, unfortunately, all Goody did was stare at him stricken. His eyes darting back and forth, the tip of his tongue touching his plump lower lip and Billy found himself helplessly falling forward as if pulled by a string, and then Goody smiled nervously and got up from his seat, as fast and slippery as an eel.

 

“I’m going to, uh, I’ll just, turn in now,” he said and rapidly walked upstairs, hat clutched in front of him like a shield. Billy moodily finished his whiskey alone and tried to ease his suddenly uncomfortable pants.

 

After a week of Billy accidentally-on-purpose touching Goody in suggestive places Goody was wild-eyed and twitchy like a hare, only approaching Billy with extreme caution. It was all very depressing, Goody even stopped his nearly infallible habit of touching Billy on purpose if he touched him accidentally, and it all made Billy feel cold, untouched and nearly vibrating out of his skin with want. If Goody had as much as put a finger on him then he thought he would have been begging within seconds.

 

*

 

But the routine of their life continued as normal, riding the trail heading northwest, in the vague direction of Santa Fe. Not that there was anything there in particular but they might as well. They arrived in the next settlement, not much more than a scratch in the dirt, with only one main street, and not many more buildings than a general store and a saloon come cathouse for boarding. The town was filled with rowdy, unshaven men, they performed their usual business of competition, where Billy beat the local champion so soundly he threw down his hat and stamped on it. But the betting had been lively and they had more than enough to retire to the saloon after for sleep in a bed and a cooked meal.

 

The afternoon crowd at the saloon was slow, a few drinkers, a game of cards and a couple of girls working the room. Goody sat down at the card game with the local patrons, his voice loud and jovial. Billy stayed by the bar, not being much for cards. He preferred dominoes, fan-tan or dice.

 

Goody was a vily player, better at distracting his opponents than actually playing and was winning the first couple of hands and one of the girls, attracted by his good luck, came to sit down by him.

 

When he had stumbled on the idea of _modifying_ their partnership Billy had had fairly vague ideas of something exclusive to the trail, when nothing else was available, not impacting on what other companionship they might seek. He had certainly not had notions of fidelity, and while he knew it was irrational be jealous of somebody just working, it wasn’t as if the woman particularly liked Goody, anymore than he had disliked any of the persons he had killed for money,still something seethed in his body and set his teeth on edge. He felt it like a sting, the way she could flirt and not be misunderstood, and the way Goody smiled at her, attentive and appreciative.

 

Seeing the girl settling herself in Goodys lap, with an arm around his neck, he decided rashly that if he could get Goody into his bed, he'd never be allowed to as much as _look_ at another person. In fact, he thought sourly as the woman playfully perched Goody’s hat on her own head, henceforth Goody would not even be allowed look at his own hand without Billy’s say so. He'd keep Goody so satisfied he wouldn't even remember others existed.

 

Or, Billy thought, whiskey suddenly burning in his throat, there would be punishments for infractions. If Goody paid a little too much attention to somebody else he could just...get him back later. In private.

 

And then the thought struck him that if the two of them were... then Goody might flirt with others just to rile him, flirt and know that Billy was watching, gaze heavy and possessive, that Goody might like that, knowing that as soon as they were alone… How he could nip and bite and hold and suck until Goody was nothing but an overstimulated, mewling mess and then keep him there at his leisure before letting him get off, whimpering and sweaty, painting his stomach with thick streaks and Billy would hold him down, straddle him and contemplate him all boneless and sated with pleasure and ask: Mine?

 

And Goody would smile, soft and pliant and glowing, pink cheeks flush all down his body, spoilt and ruined, would agree: Yeah Billy, all yours.  

 

Billy had never really had either the leisure nor inclination for idle daydreaming, but he found himself hunching over his drink, sinking into a hazy, rose-tinted reverie, chin on his hand thinking about Goody, and the way he would blush and kiss, and what noises he would make…

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Goody asked and Billy startled so badly he nearly fell off the stool, and Goody laughed, amused and bright. “Must have been some powerful deep thought. I called you three times at least. You sure it ain't worth a penny? I can spare it seeing as I'm currently standing pat,” he said and cheekily danced a coin between his knuckles.

 

Billy, who was often quiet, but never tongue-tied, found he couldn’t get a word out only capable of staring at Goody, his face hotter than a stovetop.

 

“You sure you're not feelin’ under the weather? Goody asked, peering at him, concerned with the lack of answer. “You look sorta flushed. And your eyes are all glazed up. It's not fever is it?” he asked touching the back of his fingers to Billy's cheek and forehead.

 

“I'm fine,” Billy said quickly, guiltily. “Don't fuss.”

 

“Oh, I'm an old woman to fuss is it? There were days when you'd hardly let me so much at look at a stiff drink, all three square meals and sleeping at night, who was that?”

 

“You smelled like a distillery,” Billy countered. “If you’d had a smoke like that we’d both blown up. It was dangerous.”

 

“Reckon some days it ran through so unimpeded I could've gotten a drink every time I passed water,” Goody said cheerfully and took a swig from Billy’s neglected glass.

 

“Goody, that's _vile_ ,” Billy said with emphasis but couldn't quite manage stamp down on a smile and Goody laughed.

 

“Vile?” He said, happily, clapping Billy on the shoulder (a week earlier he would have slung an arm around him and left it there, and Billy only had himself to blame). “Now I could tell you a thing or two about vile. Did I ever tell you the story about the wealthy widow and the wheelwright?”

 

*

 

Inspiration struck the next morning when Billy was covertly watching Goody perform his ablutions at the washbasin in their room, his shirt off and undergarment unbuttoned and peeled down to his waist. Goody’s back was pale and knobbly with a few red puckered scars standing out against the skin, and a sharp tan line around his neck and hands and Billy really had to focus to not slip a hand into his pants and start idly rubbing himself at the sight.

 

Possibly, if Goodnight got a good eyeful of Billy’s finer assets, then maybe he would be more amenable to a physical partnership?

 

Billy was in possession of a very fine physique, even if he did say so himself. Sparse and trim, slim hips with some very nice muscles at the front and what he’s managed to see of his own ass it was not one to be ashamed of. He wasn't exactly _outstandingly_ well endowed, but he did just fine, and if this was Goodnight’s first foray into these sort of things that might actually be a point in his favour, less intimidating? Learning to walk before your run and all that. Not that Billy had any intention of letting Goody run with somebody else once they're walking out together but the point still stood.

 

How Goody himself was endowed was something Billy had not managed to divine, and not for lack of staring. Sometimes he wondered that Goody’s trousers hadn’t been worn threadbare by the force of his stare.

 

Since there was no time like the present Billy got out of bed, unbuttoned his union suit, peeling it to the hip much like Goodnight, and tied the sleeves around his waist.

 

Walking up to Goody definitely took more courage than he thought it would, but he bumped his hip to Goody’s in a signal to leave some space for him and started washing. When he looked up Goody was watching him with a half-choked expression on his face, as if he had something stuck in his throat.

 

Billy straightened up, slowly meeting Goody’s eyes.

 

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

 

“Nothin’,” Goody all but squeaked and hid his face in a towel, quickly turning away to get his clothes back on, seeming to entirely forget the cup of carefully worked up shaving lather sitting on the edge of the basin, and ducked out of the room with burning ears.

 

Swearing forcefully into the empty room, Billy was sorely tempted to thump his head against the wall.

 

*

 

The next thing that happened was, strictly speaking, not his fault. He might have developed a slightly more relaxed dress code around Goody, shirtsleeves rolled up and top button undone, but he was not being completely shameless. He was just nudging things a little, encouraging them, not exhibiting himself.

 

He _would_ , if he thought it might help, but Goody had proven to be more skittish than anticipated in these matters and a full confrontation might just be too much for him.

 

May had rolled around, and the heat was still pleasant, not yet the full sweltering of summer. They had been riding the open trail for about two weeks, avoiding the smaller settlements and with no particular need to seek out civilization in a larger city, the next town was still a few days away.They had made camp by a river and Goody had left to see if there was any hunting in the narrow river valley.

 

Billy was taking advantage of the situation to launder his clothes. Once he’d started, and managed to soak through his shirtsleeves, he figured he might as well wash himself and clothes at the same time. He sat in the creek naked, lathering himself as well as the shirts, humming and smoking, life in general feeling pretty pleasing.

 

Goody was nowhere to be seen so Billy had no compunctions about letting himself dry in the sun, spreading out his clothes in the grass. He was rooting through his saddlebag for a spare shirt when a sound made him turn around. His knives were on the other side of the camp but the hairpin was still in his hair and it was between his fingers before he even had time to think twice.

 

Goody stood on the other side of the campside with a brace of rabbits, looking thunderstruck, obviously the hunting had been good but he looked like he had entirely forgot about them.

 

“Wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” Billy managed and Goody nodded absently.

 

“I can see that,” he said in a faint voice.

 

“Did some washing,” Billy said, shrugging. “Down by the creek, yours too,” he added because he had dug out Goodnight’s shirt and washed that as well. He wasn’t anyone’s laundryman but it seemed like a small thing to do.

 

“Billy?” Goodnight said, eyes large and lost and took an almost involuntary step closer.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Please…” And Billy took a step towards Goody, a tiny ray of hope suddenly beating in his heart.

 

“Yeah?” he said again, unable to keep the emotions out of his voice.

 

“Would you _please_ , for the love of God, and out of sympathy and pity for your fellow man, put some clothes on?” Goody said, averting his gaze.

 

“Oh.”

 

*

 

Billy had been on his misfortunate campaign for nearly two months when he reached the conclusion that enough was enough.

 

It’s like nobody has ever told him he was _terrible_ at flirting. It’s inexplicable, it’s not like he's hideous or something, theoretically Goody _should_ have fallen into his arms by now. But no, instead Goody, his handsome, gorgeous Goody had been reduced to a shadow of his former self.

 

He was tense and twitchy around Billy and if he was eating or sleeping it’s nowhere where Billy can see it it. His eyes had taken on a haunted look, even in the daytime, and he lost all the weight Billy carefully put on him, until he resembled very much the sallow, scrawny, sour-smelling thing that Billy took up company with so many months ago.

 

So obviously it has to stop. Billy’s pride can’t take much more rejection, and and neither, it seems, can Goody’s overall health. He looks jaundiced, and has developed a twitch in one eye, and if it wasn’t so incredibly depressing Billy would take vague pride in the fact that he’s managed to stress Goody out more than the whole war.

 

So Billy just had to accept that it had been a bad idea and leave it at that. In the future he should keeps his hands and eyes to himself and if his imagination sometimes runs away with him well, Goody for sure will be none the wiser.

 

It stung a little, and felt bitter, but Billy was rather in Goodys company, than out of it and he’d take whatever he could get. Letting Goody go further than arm’s distance felt cold, chilly and lonely in places where he used to be warm.

 

*

 

However, it was tricky to stay apart when Goodnight insisted on seeking his company.

 

Billy had been morosely fishing by the creek next to their camp, hoping both to get something for dinner and to restore Goody’s peace of mind by some much needed space, when Goodnight himself splashed across the shallows to come sit next to him. He pulled of booths and socks and dipping his white feet in the water like a kid. The insects were droning and the sun was warm and they sat in silence for a while, the day sleepy and lazy.

 

“No poetry?” Billy asked, because Goodnight could wax poetic about just about any type of landscape but he was being he is uncharacteristically quiet.

 

“Not today,” Goody said, eyes far reaching and soft and Billy contemplated the monstrous unfairness that prevented him from pulling Goody close and kissing him.

 

The way he was leaning back on his elbow contemplating the running water, his chin tilted up to expose the thin skin on his neck. It was nearly more than Billy could bear, but he was not a child to weep for a thing he wanted, instead only clutched the fishing rod with hands that wanted to touch Goody so much they trembled.

 

“Oh hey now, lookit that!” Goody said nodding toward s the float. It was bobbing and Billy hadn't noticed the faint tugging he'd been so absorbed. He pulled the line in and Goody actually got in the water to pull the fish the final bit. It was pretty shiner, with the scales neat and smooth, flashing blue and silver.

 

They caught two more fishes that afternoon and cooked them over the hot coals, Goody humming one of his songs again and maybe Billy thought, maybe hadn't damaged things too bad after all. It would take a little while but it would smooth itself out, if he cold only keep his stupid desires out of it.

 

They went to sleep in the chill peace of night, the stars up above so bright they almost seemed to be within touching distance.

 

In spite of the calm day Billy still woke up to the sound of Goody having another nightmare, thrashing and cursing. It was easy to shake him awake and kindle the fire back into a blaze. The stars had faded but it was still dark,with no sign of dawn.

 

Billy wrapped a blanket around Goody hunched shoulders and put an arm around him. To his surprise Goody just melted into it, burrowing into Billy’s shoulder with a groan, after weeks and weeks of twitching and flinching away every time Billy touched him.

 

They sat like that for a while, just quiet. Billy found himself to his own surprise absently humming something his _halmi_ used to sing to him, so long ago it was barely a memory. He drifted a little into sleep, letting the hand stroking up and down Goody’s shoulder blades be the only thing that tethered him to wakefulness.

 

“What's that mean?” Goody asked quietly, startling him out of his half-sleep, head still leaning into the crook of Billy’s neck.

 

“What means?”

 

“You keep saying something, does it mean anything?”

 

“What do I say?” Billy asked blearily, trying to remember. He could recall talking but he wasn't sure at all what he’d actually said.

 

“You say:” Goody said and made a noise that didn't sound like anything at all.

 

“What?”

 

Goody tried again and this time the sound coalesced into something that with goodwill could be:

 

 _"Gaeguli_?” Billy asked, mystified.

 

“Yeah, that, chung gegoori,” Goody answered, and it made Billy laugh in surprise, the mispronunciation strangely endearing.

 

“I didn't know I was saying it. It means… uh, you know, those animals, in water?”

 

“Fish?”

 

“I know how to say fish, Goody. Those other ones with the legs? Hoppy?” He sketched in the air trying to make his hand do the kicking motions.

 

“A frog? They're green and slimy, you get them in the bayous.”

 

“Yeah, that. It means, umm, a little green frog?” He measured between thumb and forefinger,showing something small. “My father mother, my _halmonee_ , she say that to me all the time when I couldn't sleep, I was naughty, a _chun gaeguli._ ”

 

He petted Goody’s back, the memory unexpected and fond.

 

“She say little frog, little frog, go to sleep the _illo_ \- it’s a sort of bird, with long legs - will get you in the morning.”

 

Goodnight laughed softly and Billy leaned closer, muttering the words into his hair, stroking his back. After a while Goody said something against his shoulder, barely audible and he leaned down to catch it. Goody’s face was clouded, his brow furrowed and unhappy, staring at his clasped hands in front of him.

 

“Billy, it's not that I don't. And I realize that I. But,you. You’ve got to stop this, please,” he sounded sad, and desperate, and tired.

 

“Stop what?”  Billy asked bewildered and Goody waved a hand between them, encompassing Billy’s arm around him, his own head on Billy’s shoulder.

 

“All this, you have to give me a chance to, to not, I know you don’t mean to but...that you don’t mean nothing by it but I’ve not got the heart or constitution to withstand it.”

 

“What are you saying?” Billy asked, heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

 

“The...all the, listen you wouldn’t lead a girl on, that you were sweet on her when you weren’t?”

 

“No,” Billy said, barely able to get the word out.

 

“Exactly,” Goody said and made to get up, shaking Billy’s arm off but Billy wouldn’t let him go, catching his hands.

 

“Who says I’m not…” he tried, “that I’m not…” the words were refusing to leave his tongue but maybe Goody understood his clinging hands because he leant down and allowed Billy to pull him in, to finally put his desperate arms around him and kiss him.

 

It was a little too frantic, a little too mismatched with Billy sitting down and Goody half crouching to get up but it was still so sweet, like water after a long day.

 

And Goody came down to him soon enough, shaking hands skating over Billy’s face and shoulders and they nearly fell into the fire in their haste.

 

Billy felt like all of him have been aching and it was only now being put to rights. The both of them pulling at each other’s clothes and cursing, waistcoats and trousers suddenly unbearably in the way.

 

In the end he ended up straddling Goody, bucking his hips and grinding down like he’d wanted to in that narrow hotel bed and God knows how long before that.

 

Goody was on the ground under him, warm and alive and shaking, shirt hanging off one shoulder, pulling at Billy’s hair and kissing him, their bodies coming together in urgent, pulsing pleasure.

 

It was over almost embarrassingly fast and Billy would have felt mortified about it if he also wasn't so satiated.

 

“I didn’t think you…” Goody said vaguely afterwards,  when they were lying shoulder to shoulder, sharing a cigarette, the blue smoke curling towards the heavens.

 

“Well I do,” Billy said defiantly and dropped a kiss on Goody’s naked chest, the night air would soon be too chilly but for for the moment he was quite content.

 

“I tried to, you know…” he couldn't quite bring himself to say the words _seduce you_ and shrugged instead, “but somehow it wasn’t as easy to get you to understand,” he said, his pride grudging to admit that he has struggled and Goody sat up.

 

“Now hold on here, you mean to tell me this was all on purpose? The touching? The ungodly nakedness?” Goody asked, severe and Billy chewed his lips and nodded and Goody made a half-strangled noise and started to laugh, choking on smoke.

 

“It’s not funny!” Billy said affronted and Goody threw away the cigarette so he could catch hold of him and kiss him, in between guffaws of laughter.

 

“Oh Billy, I was honestly going out of my mind,” he laughed and Billy scowled violently at him.”First I thought you must’ve had a heat stroke, and then that you were doing it on purpose to screw with me.”

 

“I _was_ doing it on purpose! I just didn’t think I’d be bad at it,” Billy glowered and Goody smiled,so bright.

 

“Au contraire, chér. you were so good at it I was afraid to even look at you, I thought I would fall on you like a starving woolf on a sweet little lamb,” he assured Billy and kissed him open mouthed and wet, and Billy allowed himself be somewhat mollified by this.

 

“It was not bad,” he said, halfway between a question and a statement.

 

“No, no, it wa so good I thought I was hallucinating half of the time. Absolutely done with style and finesse. It was like being a young man again! Everywhere I looked there you were, looking so good! Thought you had figured me out after the… the thing and taken offence somehow and was trying to wind me up! I thought I was going to get a rash from the repression. Take up cold bathing! A stiff breeze was enough to get me going!”

 

“Why would I be winding you up if I didn’t _want_ to make anything of it?” Billy said, exasperated. “That makes no sense. I can’t believe you are such a blockhead,” and Goody laughed and kissed him.

 

“I am,” he agreed “but you’ve got me now.”

 

And that seemed to be that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to officially apologize for the statment about getting drunk on your own pee. You guys are a classy fandom, you don't deserve this.
> 
> I'm not Korean but my grandma always called me a little frog so I was very charmed when I found out that a naughty child in Korea might fondly called a little green frog after a story about a contrary frog. 
> 
> (All mistakes in this are my own, I try to go through and pick them up but sometimes it takes me a while to notice them.)

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish Fly, also known as Cantharidin, is in all events highly questionable and if it works at all will give you an erection but also make you bleed and die, so despite what Goodnight says here thats probably not what's in the wine. I guess it's handwavy sex pollen? Possibly from a rare breed of cactus and goat testicles.
> 
> There was going to be a whole lot more dirty innuendo durint the pick-up scene but I got too embarrassed to write it.
> 
> Also people probably didnt shake hand by way of introduction but its not like historical accuracy is a big issue here anyway.
> 
> Come talk to me at: hellolittleogre.tumblr.com


End file.
